


All the Right Words

by Lizardlicks



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Amporacest, Consent Issues, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Human/Troll Hybrids, M/M, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardlicks/pseuds/Lizardlicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cool,” Cronus says, then bumps his shoulder against Eridan’s again, and sticks out his elbow, offering him a place for his hand.  The gesture is so careless and familiar, like nothing any sane Alternian would ever consider doing with a person they’ve met maybe a handful of times for less than five minutes each.  It’s startling in both how easy and comforting it is to accept.  Cronus favors him with another grin, and Eridan’s fins heat and prickle for entirely different reasons as they slide out of view together, strolling casually away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Right Words

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. There isn't a happy ending on this one, so if you're sensitive to that sort of thing, turn back now.

He’s hiding.  Not literally, obviously, he’s not blocked himself away from view, but the fact remains that Eridan has yet to get any closer to the crowd of (trolls?  He’s not sure what any of them are anymore, spit out the other side of four or five universes, all jumbled together) excited ex-players gathered in loose clumps in the trampled down clearing.  Chatter fills the air, mixes into white noise as old friends and new acquaintances merge on the area, and start swapping stories, offering camaraderie and olive branches.  Some of them are all so much older now, more in experience than actual age, having gone through lifetimes worth of struggle, while he rotted in the limbo of dreambubbles or the hell of sprite prototyping.

He wants to join them.  He wants to say something to the people he once called friends.  He _needs_ to say something, even if it’s to beg and grovel for forgiveness, but a heavy weight holds him down.  Like he’s drowning in cement, it gums his voices, his mouth, pins his shoes to the ground, fills his stomach with lead and fluttering unease until the conflicting desires are churning over in a nauseous mix.  

Someone bumps his shoulder and he almost screams.  Almost.  Stupid, he should be paying more attention!  This world is new and strange, and it’s not like he has a lot of friends left besides.  Who knows what could have been sneaking up on him, and he let his guard down!  

It’s just the other Ampora, the one that would have been Dualscar in his timeline (HA!) smiling broadly with that weird, dumb roll of paper still hanging from his lips.  This doesn’t stop Eridan’s face from stinging while he glowers at him.

“Hey kid, wanna bail?”  He says it so casual, like he’s asking if he wants extra toppings on his cheese topped dough plateau.  

Eridan glances back at the crowd.  Fef is mid mutual glomp and squeal with Nep.  Kar and Kan have pushed off to the side, and through the tangle of bodies he can see them rest their foreheads together and speak in something more private than the rest of the people are given to.  He swallows the angry butterflies and shrugs.

“Yeah.  Sure.”  Cowardice wins again.  He thinks maybe it was always hopeless to fight it, so why bother anymore?

“Cool,” Cronus says, then bumps his shoulder against Eridan’s again, and sticks out his elbow, offering him a place for his hand.  The gesture is so careless and familiar, like nothing any sane Alternian would ever consider doing with a person they’ve met maybe a handful of times for less than five minutes each.  It’s startling in both how easy and comforting it is to accept.  Cronus favors him with another grin, and Eridan’s fins heat and prickle for entirely different reasons as they slide out of view together, strolling casually away.

 

* * *

 

They started off ambling, exploring casually while exchanging typical pleasantries expected for how little they know of each other.  The Beforan’s aggressive flirtiness is such a change from how Eridan’s usual interactions go.  He can’t tell if it’s just because the world he was from was more friendly and open, or if he’s really that interested, but Eridan quickly forgets to care.  It leaves him a little dazed but happy, uncertain and excited like swimming out into deep water for the first time.

At some point, they picked up the sound of fast-moving water in the distance, and have been playing a game of seek with it.  Now the sound, formally a disquiet whisper, has grown to a monstrous roar, muffling any attempt at conversation.  Eridan climbs the last few steps to fall in beside the older troll, having been beaten by his longer stride in spite of the fact that Cronus seems unused to the wilderness, and is unsurprised to find a series of waterfalls cutting through the sort-of-a-path they’ve been following.

He’s tired in a good way from the brisk pace of their hike, smelling of pine sap, and moss when they crest the hill.  It’s not quite the feel he had when FLARPing, or running through LOWAA; there is none of that electric energy burning up his blood that’s brought on by a hunt, though there is still something thrilling hovering in the vicinity of his chest, tight and wriggly-warm.  His earlier distress has almost been forgotten.  If he can hold onto this feeling, he thinks maybe he can deal with whatever pain is waiting in his future.  Maybe.  Cronus reaches the top first, breathes out an awed, “Whoa.”

“Not bad,” he says as he leans out for a better look, and Eridan has to strain to hear him over the din.  The water is so tumbled it’s practically mist, floating back up to dust their faces in dew.  Light from the single, enormous, golden moon lays rainbow after rainbow down the ever-plummeting steps, and far below the last, the river continues wandering away, a dark ribbon shot through with gold, threading through plush, velvet green.   “I think I could get used to this dirt ball with the right digs.”

Eridan leans out too, following Cronus’ example, trying to drink in every detail (he has to wipe his glasses with his scarf as the mist clings to the lenses, because of fucking course the universe can shuffle them up like living decks of cards into new bodies while neglecting fix something as dumb as that).   He rarely ever took the time to stop and appreciate the scenery back ho- back on Alternia.  Didn’t think it mattered much; more important things to do at the time, and he would have spent so much more of his life out in space than he ever did planetside anyway.  Why be sentimental over it?  

This place really is gorgeous though, and he feels that sense of something going right starting to really lift at his sunken spirit.

Something bumps his back.  For a fraction of a second his heels are too far off ground.  There is nothing to grab onto, crashing water and rocks are all that’s below him, and it’s not fair he was starting to look forward to living-

Then Cronus’ arms are cinched tight around his waist, hauling him up, back to solid chest and feet firm in the moss.  Cronus chuckles low in his ear, sending a shiver crawling down his neck.  “Saved your life.”

“What the Glub loving fuck!” Eridan squeals, slaps at his “savior’s” shoulder and throws an  elbow at his trunkstem, “Jerk, you did that on purpose!” 

The jab only barely misses his gills, but Cronus still doesn’t take the threat very seriously.  He goes, “oof!” between bursts of laughter and doesn’t let go, smothers the sound into Eridan’s hair.

“Aw, come on, Danny, it was just a joke!”

Eridan sputters, flustered by the sudden nicknaming.  His anger wilts, but he still tries to puff and posture at the other troll anyway.  “Well, it wasn’t funny,” he pouts.

“Don’t be such a wiggler, I wouldn’t let you fall.”  Now Cronus is nuzzling into the fluff of hair at the base of Eridan’s neck, and his thinkpan keeps on refusing to work in straight lines.

“Just... Hm, don’t do it again.”

“ ‘Kay,” Cronus’ agrees as though the whole thing was already dismissed.  “You’re cute when you’re fussy.”

There goes the thought train, completely derailed.  The tight feeling around his cheeks blooms into outright flames.  Eridan has no clever retort to hide it behind.  He hopes that Cronus doesn’t notice, but also that he does.

 

* * *

 

They’ve found a sheltered clearing for a break.  Talk some how comes to the topic of their ancestors, the versions of each other as they knew of them on their worlds.  Cronus doesn’t offer much.  He says the Eridan of his world was a relic of history books by the time his meteor crashed down on Beforus.  Apparently quelled some rebellions, culled a bunch of low blood kids (the Beforan version of it, of course- snooze) and did a bunch of typical high blood stuff.  It was noted for being pretty atypical at the time since the empress had only just implemented the new regulations in regards to culling, but not remarkable by modern Beforus standards.

“Tell me about Alternia me,” Cronus prods.  He’s propped himself against a tree and taken to twirling the weird roll of paper through his fingers.  Eridan, sprawled on his back in the grass, watches the flutter of movement upside-down.  “Guy looked like he was a pretty snappy dresser.”

“Orphaner Dualscar.”  Eridan still can’t totally erase the grin the name calls up.  Years of wearing the mantle himself in his wigglerhood games had ingrained the association with something breathlessly powerful.  It was nearly an invocation.

“Badass,” Cronus declares, and Eridan agrees.  The Orphaner was pretty badass, at least what he knew of him.  He tells his dancestor some of the stories Vriska leaked from Mindfang’s journal; about pirate hunting, and beast killing, and days of steamy pitch affairs or flushed longings.  Some of it’s embellishment, his own, or one of the Serkets, it doesn’t matter.  He’s having the most fun he’s had in a long time telling it, and watching the expressions on Cronus’ face rise or fall with each tale of victory or defeat.

Eventually he runs out of words, stories all dried up.  Cronus doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s tapping one foot and grinning at the star speckled sky.  Above, it looks like someone spilled silver dust on ink.

“Man, guys like that,” he finally breaks the silence and Eridan rolls over onto his side to look so he doesn’t get a crick in his neck this time, “they don’t fuck around.  They come calling and you get in line or get outta the way.”

“Respect,” Eridan thinks out loud, and Cronus nods in agreement.

“Right!  Yeah, it’s what all these other guys are lackin’ now-a-days.  Don’t have no more respect.”  He taps the paper roll against one knee thoughtfully, and then his expression changes.  His smile goes soft and his eyes focused, and when he flops over so he’s on his side too, almost nose to nose, Eridan inhales sharply.

“You know, you’re not like them.”

“Yeah?  Well, _yeah_ ,” Eridan amends quickly. It sounds lame.  He was speaking fine not five minutes ago, but now everything is getting tangled up again.  Cronus just keeps looking at him, smiling like he knows something, and that hot thrill resurges, coils into a ball in his chest.

“Everyone else, they don’t even remember they got a proper station,” Cronus goes on, either oblivious to the slip or ignoring it.  “Wouldn’t know their place if it kicked ‘em in the hind fat deposits.  You get it though.  I mean, you know, you gotta take what you want like what’s your right.  Ain’t none of them lames get a say.”

Eridan finds himself nodding along, focused on the way Cronus’ mouth moves, the way he licks his teeth when he says “take”.  

“Maybe it’s ‘cause you got Alternian raised, but you’re pretty mature for your age, Danny,” he says.  “You an’ me, we gotta stick to our guns together.”

“Yeah,” Eridan agrees again, mouth stuck on repeat, mind stuck on Cronus’ hand as he slides it up his leg, the blush of color crawling across his nose.  He almost doesn’t react when Cronus leans in and presses against his lips.  His brain is still looping over the last five seconds, trying to process meaning he hoped he didn’t miss when his body takes over and chirps a needy, embarrassing noise into Cronus’ mouth.

The other troll doesn’t seem to mind.  He chuckles and pulls Eridan closer to him, dragging him by the hips as he plants three more kisses, sloppy and rough.  It isn’t like Eridan is anymore experienced in physical affection, but he’s lost and drowning, overwhelmed simply by the feeling of being wanted, _desired_ , so he lets Cronus lead.  He drags his hand down the back of Eridan’s thigh, grips him behind the knee, and pulls his leg over his hip.  They twine together, Cronus digging his fingers possessively into Eridan’s hair and the meat of his thigh.

Eridan doesn’t question when the older rolls them so he’s over top, even though it makes him feel trapped; doesn’t stop the exploration of cool fingers under his shirt, despite how it makes him want to squirm away.  He feels like he’s being pulled open from the inside, too full, everything spilling out.  He doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t want to go forward, so he whimpers and chirps helplessly under Cronus’ touch, poured in with fire, burning with need, but also something darker.  This is what being caught in a storm at sea feels like, tossed back and forth, and out of control.  

He wants off this ride.

The confusing crush of disappointment and relief that flushes it out when he can convince himself to pull away doesn’t actually feel all that much better.  Another attempt at a kiss fall shy of it’s target, grazing the corner of his mouth as Eridan turns his head away.

“Nnn, Cro. Stop.”

“What?  Why?”  Cronus leans back and frowns at the troll under him.  “Babe, I thought we were havin’ a good time.”

“It’s...” Eridan tries to scrape the parts of his think pan that are in his pants and the parts that are clawing out the back of his skull together and form a coherent sentence, but they don’t seem to be keen on agreeing.  “It’s not entirely awful.”

Well, he’ll just eat his entire foot then!  He cringes when Cronus rolls off him to plant his butt in the grass and cross his arms defensively.

“Ouch, way to kick a guy in the soft spot when he’s trying to show ya a good time.”

“I-”  He stumbles, tries to start again.  “Look, I was havin’ fun, an’ all, an’ I wouldn’t be much opposed to tryin’ again sometime-”

Cronus’ bitter bark of laughter cuts him off.  “Wow, I see how it is.  Lead me on, let me bend over backwards trying to please you, but ask for a little reciprocation and suddenly you’re Mister Too Fuckin’ Proper.  What, am I not good enough for you?”

“No!  I mean... yes?  Uurgh!”  Eridan covers his face with his hands.  He want to scream but he settles for a sigh instead.  It comes out shaky.  Why does the world feel like it’s crumbling? 

“We ain’t hardly had any time to properly court yet, an’ it’s not like there’s any drones left to come knockin’ on the door.  I just... I think I need to think this through.”

“Jeez, Eridan, I thought you of all people would understand,” The sulking glare Cronus levels at him doesn’t pierce half so painfully as his next words. “I thought you knew how much being lonely sucks.  How painful rejection can be.”

Eridan chokes, tries to protest “I do!  I didn’t mean to-”

“Well, you did!  You know what, forget it.  I don’t need this kind of stress.”  Cronus stands up and angrily slaps away bits of grass sticking to his jeans.  “You can just go run and play with your little friends if you ain’t ready for a real relationship,” he spits, “If they want a fucking murderer hanging around, anyway.”

He starts to walk away with the hooks twisting in Eridan’s throat.  He’s leaving.  Eridan’s emptiness splits open and swallows him.

“Cro, wait!”

He slips on the dewy grass more than once in his rush to catch the other troll.  Cronus stops to look and Eridan nearly plows into him.  He grabs Cronus by the elbow, presses his face into his back and tries to steady his breathing.  

“Don’t go,” he muffles into Cronus’ shirt.  “Please, dont- we can do somethin’.  I wouldn’t mind that much.”

He feels the bump of breath when Cronus scoffs.  “You sure?  Wouldn’t want to impose on sucha busy guy.  You got stuff to think about.”  His insides recoil at the acid lace of sarcasm dripping off the words, but Eridan redoubles his grip around Cronus’ arm.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, then quieter, “just don’t go,” and he doesn’t say out loud, _I don’t wanna be alone_.

 

* * *

 

The night air burns cool counterpoint to the hot sting of the stretch inside him, in a body so new he hasn’t even had time to explore it himself, while fingers paint tattoos of fading warmth in trails along his back, his butt, his thighs.  He drowns his cries in kisses and buries tears under soft sounds of pleasure.  The emptiness in him howls and hungers.  He tells it to go fuck off for a while.

 

* * *

 

Eridan is still dozing under the shade of the big tree’s branches as the sky is lightening to gray when Cronus starts pulling his jeans back on.  It takes a few sleep dulled seconds before he realizes he’s not doing it out of any sense of modesty.  The dreamy shelter he’d been drifting in cracks. Eridan sits up, a bubble of panic rising in his throat.

“Hey, Cro.”

He pauses before turning to Eridan with a smile that doesn’t quite sit right. “Yeah, Chief?”

“We’re... we can be matespits, right?”

“Uh, well.  I mean sure, if that’s what you wanna call it?”  He shrugs and reaches for his shirt, while Eridan sits, blinking rapidly.  He has to unclench his jaw before he can answer.  His fists aren’t so easy; his (short, blunt, not claws; oh how he wants them back right now) nails bite welts into his palms.  

“What exactly are you sayin’?”

“Matesprits is kind of a troll thing, ya know?  And we ain’t exactly anymore.”  Cronus finishes tugging his shirt over his head and runs his fingers through the tousle of his hair a couple of times in a half-assed attempt to straighten it.  “But hey, we can do this again if you want.  No big, Chief.”

“Sure,” Eridan fixes a smile across his face, like a jagged crack in a porcelain mask, no more sincere than Cronus’, “no big.”

 


End file.
